Into The Wind
by TweetyPie85
Summary: What if everything in DQ had been the other way round? Just a bit of fun & probably not for die hard fans!
1. Chapter 1

_This story is just meant to be a bit of festive fun...it's based heavily on "My Fair Lady" which is my fave thing to watch at Christmas lol...and there are a lot of differences compared to the show so please dont kill me!! I dont own any of the characters or rights to the show!_

_**Dedication:** This story (& the small pane of broken glass!) is dedicated to my best friend who read every scene as I wrote it & provided so much support! Thankyou! xoxox_

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

He didn't know what had possessed him to take this path, to blindly follow its weaving guidance into the fulminate heart of the city. Yet desire to escape the austere and ever watchful eye of high society drove him onwards, urging him into the sweltering domain that seemingly writhed beneath the swarms of tattered forms before spilling out unceremoniously onto the muddy banks by the river. The streets grew ever narrower as he ventured on, the decrepit houses seemingly falling over each other in their haste to open out into the dark, waste strewn alleys. Bundles of tangled cloth sought shelter in the tumbling doorways, peering out every so often to glance at him with eyes that glowed like pearls against their dusty faces, before returning to their huddled state. Suddenly conscious of his smart attire, he pulled at the knotted cravat, the silken material slipping like water against his fingers, and shoved it into the depths of his pocket. Moist mist instantly cloyed at his now bare neck and he hastily unfastened the top buttons of the dress shirt in an attempt to cool his flushed skin. An almost intolerable closeness seemed to engulf his stationary form and inhaling deeply, he fought to extricate his thoughts from the heady scents that poisoned the air. The sun had already begun its descent towards the west, yet for several minutes he remained motionless, trapped, as though in a dream.

A shout from near by roused him instantly from his reverie, the anxiety lacing the sombre tone catching his attention.

"Anne! The baby's coming! Quick!"

Turning back towards the river and the strange summons, he never noticed the small figure dart out from a darkened doorway away to his right. Hastily tying her apron behind her back, she snatched up a small pouch and hurtled towards the panicked voice. The sound of her footsteps however caused the suspended form obstructing her way to turn and step forwards with the natural consequence that she bumped straight into him.

"Excuse me, Sir," she instantly offered, her eyes widening for a moment as she registered his cleanly shaven face and dinner suit before an anguished cry drew her away and she disappeared into the shadows.

He barely heard her words; long after she had vanished from his sight, he remained, fixated, his mind recalling again and again the pattern of russet streaks that had danced across the thick coil of hair in the fading sunlight, the delicate curve of her jaw and the haunting expression of her mismatched eyes.

* * *

Even at this early hour, the narrow passages were fairly heaving with individuals jostling boldly against each other and striking loud bargains with the dubious looking merchants littering every corner. The oppressive afternoon heat had not yet settled as an impenetrable layer over the rickety structures and it was with relative ease that he fought his way through the din and approached the familiar junction of passages. Spotting a rather plump lady seated on a stone slab that constituted the front door step of a particularly weather worn building, he smiled and hastily crossed the narrow walkway towards her.

"Excuse me," he began with a slight nod of his head, "but I am looking for a young lady who lives around here. I believe her name is Anne."

For several moments she failed to stir, barely acknowledging his presence and continuing to sort the meagre stock of dark vegetables before her into a small, wicker basket. He was about to repeat his question, the impatience already rising in his countenance when she suddenly glanced up, her otherwise kindly face marred by suspicion.

"Who's looking for her?" she responded with a brusqueness that suggested she was little likely to be fooled by feeble excuses, even as her keen eye traversed his fine raiment.

Instantly comprehending the situation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Reaching for her withered hand, he placed the precious amount into her lined palm before adding in a low voice, "I mean no harm."

A smile curled her lips, instantly lightening her features and with a youthful laugh she pointed out the alley away to the right.

"Anne lives down that way: go down far as ya can and it's the door on the left."

"Though if ya can get her to leave that dingy place, then you're a better friend than me," she called over his shoulder as he made to leave. Looking back, his brow creased in consternation yet guessing his thoughts, she merely laughed again and vanished inside, the coins jangling in her hand.

* * *

Heavy wooden beams overhung the alleyway, blocking out so much of the sunlight that to his unaccustomed gaze, it might have been twilight. Away from the bustling crowds, the silence fell as a mantle, smothering even the soft tread of his footsteps, until the very beat of his heart seemed to disrupt the peaceful serenity about him. The heady scent of dried herbs filled the air and breathing deeply, he quickened his steps until he stood before the final doorway. Sequestered away behind the row of relatively well preserved buildings, it boasted the finest attributes of sheer destitution. Damp had crept unnoticed up the walls of the structure alongside curls of ivy and at regular intervals, small, mossy tufts protruded through gaps in the stone work. The battered door stood open though whether this was by some purpose or merely its natural posture would be difficult to determine and as he stepped up into the entrance, he entirely expected a darkened, grime streaked cocoon to meet his gaze. Yet he was wholly surprised; three candles in each of the three corners bathed the lone room in an amber hue, highlighting the simple furnishings. There was no elegant upholstery on the single chair and the bed covers were riddled with holes but the well brushed floor and scrubbed table gave a distinctly homely feel to the otherwise wretched surroundings. Entirely forgetting the common courtesy of announcing his presence by a knock or call, he swiftly entered the humble dwelling, eager to discover more. The apartment however, was not uninhabited and at the sound of his footsteps, the figure that had been poring over a stack of tattered volumes instantly leapt up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. How can I …."

Her voice trailed off as she recognised the stranger that had barred her way the previous afternoon. A curious yet closed expression coloured her previously flushed features even as an uncharacteristic nervousness seemed to descend upon her form. Lowering her gaze, she hastily tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ears before turning to her dull grey apron and trying to smooth the folds out of the weary, wrinkled fabric.

"It's me who should apologise," he interposed, sensing her embarrassment, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh no, you didn't," she replied quickly, raising her eyes and smiling shyly, "didn't startle me I mean. I was just…reading."

Following her gaze to the numerous books that were scattered across a small bureau, he slowly moved forward and picking the topmost, wordlessly requested permission to peruse the pages. At her reassuring nod, he bent his eyes to the slanted script, almost instantly recoiling in amazement as he recognised the substance of the text and accompanying diagrams.

"But this is…." he began, the wonder in his eyes causing a crimson blush to suffuse her cheeks, "then you are a doctor?"

"Oh no, Sir!" she immediately corrected, "not a doctor. I just help out now and again, if a child's ailing or a baby's due. Simple things."

"But you'd like to do more," he stated, closing the book and fixing her with a shrewd gaze, "wouldn't you?"

He did not require a response; the desire that burnt like coals in her eyes confirmed his suspicions and as he bent to examine the remaining books, he felt her gaze burning into his face, eagerly studying its contours and angles.

"Anne," he murmured, tracing the name she had scrawled into the inside cover of a particularly well thumbed novel, "that your name?"

Had he met her glance as he uttered this, he would have noticed the emotion flicker momentarily in her eyes before it was once again disguised and she responded neutrally, "Yes."

"Your accent," he continued after a moment's silence, finally raising his eyes to meet her expectant expression, "it's so pure."

"Yes," she replied, yet at this her voice became much softer and once more her eyes turned downward, as though afraid of what they might betray.

The sight of her young face contorted in apparent pain, the lone tear slipping down her thin cheek before she swiped it away, struck his long bereft heart and with a sigh he stepped forwards and took her hand.

"I want to help you Anne," he explained softly.

Wriggling away from his grasp, she stared incredulously at the well dressed individual before her. The satin and silks of his attire betrayed great wealth and status; the healthy glow of his skin, great abundance. Even to her young, naïve mind, the thought that someone like him should be troubled by someone as lowly and insignificant as an impoverished girl who, carried away by dreams of success frequently forgot her position and thus the dinner cooking on the stove, seemed highly implausible and the natural words burst from her lips, "But why?"

"Well I might as well do some good with the money my father seems determined to endow me with," he stated flippantly, the sarcasm a whip behind his words.

His words however, struck a fire in the previously pliable young girl before him and raising her chin defiantly, she replied acidly, "I am not so simple as you think. I will not be any man's prize."

"No!" he interjected, the blithe indifference fading from his eyes and the gentle sincerity flooding back in its wake, "no, no, I didn't mean…"

Yet at that moment, a shout accompanied by the light trip of a child's footsteps curtailed his explanation. Barely a minute later, a small, dirty blond youngster hurtled into the room and instantly seeking out his acquaintance, squealed her name delightedly before fairly throwing himself into her arms.

"Annie," he exclaimed, hugging her with all the fervour his starved arms could muster, "Ma says ya're comin' home for supper. She's makin' your favourite."

"I'd love to come," she murmured, ruffling his hair affectionately before spinning him round to face her unexpected visitor.

"Brian," she began slowly, "I'd like you to meet…."

Suddenly realising that the stranger had also failed to introduce himself, she placed her arms protectively around Brian's shoulders and steadily returned his watchful gaze. Perhaps he interpreted her action as a withdrawal for he immediately stepped forward and bending down, shook the little boy's hand.

"I'm Mr Sully," he said, "it's nice to meet you Brian."

"It's nice to meet ya too Mister," replied Brian with a giggle, turning his amused face up to hers as though educating her in the correct use of polite mannerisms.

"You can call me Sully," added the stranger, yet his glance had drifted up and was fixed unwaveringly on the eyes that had so captured his heart amidst the crowds. Sensing the words that rested unspoken on his lips, she bent down and whispering something to Brian, tenderly nudged him out of the door. This latter took off running and as the slap of his poorly soled shoes faded into nothingness, she turned away, folding her arms about herself as though as a shield from his request.

"Thank you for your offer Mr Sully, but I don't need your help. As you can see I am quite happy here."

"Please," he offered, approaching so close that she could almost feel his presence at her shoulder, "what I said before, I didn't meant it. I just want to help. I can't tell you why, I just know I want to."

When she remained silent, her posture erect and implacable, he reached out and grazed her arm with his fingers.

"At least say you'll come with me for a while," he gently urged, forcing her to meet his eyes, "there's something I want to show you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: **

"Wait here," he said in a low voice, his previously relaxed and even teasing smile contorting into a grimace as the distinct click of heels upon a tiled floor drew ever closer to the library. Curiosity burnt bright in her eyes but even as she framed the question, the backward glance he cast in her direction as he moved towards the door silenced her. The clear blue eyes that had shone with mirthful brilliance mere moments ago had darkened to gaping chasms, ire rising swift in the pupil and searing all that fell before its gaze. Involuntarily, she drew back in her seat and watched as he strode out of the room, the door snapping shut behind him. For several minutes, the gentle hum of conversation proved indistinguishable even to her keen ear and she fell to tracing a floral print with her finger. As a burst of fury suddenly reverberated through the oaken panels, her fingers stumbled within the pattern. Starting up from her seat, she discerned the heavy speech of an older gentleman and to her surprise, the unmistakeable tone of her new acquaintance; his voice however, seemed as distorted as his features had been. Harsh and brusque, the words cracked like a whip through the air, the disdain as biting as a winter frost. Yet behind the façade of simple anger was a wealth of emotion so potent it stirred her sympathetic heart; the raw anguish of loss, the grief of abandonment and above all, love- love so strong that despite his efforts, could not entirely be masked by the overt display of resentment.

The footsteps receded even as the door opened and he entered; his face was lowered as though to disguise from her the sentiments that fought for governance over its features.

"Sorry" he murmured with a sigh, leaning against the door and crossing his arms, "sorry you had to hear that. My father and I…well we don't always agree on things."

Reading more from his demeanour than the vague verbal explanation, she instantly stepped away from the table and moved towards him. Placing a gentle hand on his tense, curled arm, she subjoined softly, "Don't worry. I'm no stranger to arguments. My sister and I…well we were a sight to behold when we got started."

Meeting the laughter in her eyes, the steely ball of agony in his chest loosened somewhat and interest piqued, he queried, "You have a sister?"

"I had four," she replied sadly, averting her eyes from his as beads of moisture snuffed out the candles of joviality, "but the influenza last year…well we didn't have the fancy doctors you do. I tried hard but they were just too weak to fight it. Only my eldest sister Rebecca made it through…but she died six months later anyway giving birth to her first. Guess some things just aren't meant to be."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, moving to place a tender hand on her shoulder. Not even the elite of society had been spared from the deadly sickness that had run rampant through the city, stealing the souls of man and child alike. The cramped, damp conditions in the slums had allowed the disease to fester and spread with scores falling sick every day. Even the rising death tolls reported with great acumen in the daily newspapers however, had failed to attract the attention of the higher classes who fearful of their lives, had sought to draw an even stricter boundary between themselves and the seemingly undeserving of society, blocking trade and travel and thus effectively cutting off the livelihood of those in desperate need.

"I still had my father," she said with a watery smile and nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, "we always said nothing mattered so long as we were together."

"He died two months ago," she added in response to his silent question, "consumption."

"I never thought anything would break his spirit," she continued with a laugh that choked on her tears, "he always had so much life in him. He fairly raised me after my mother died, taught me to read and write before I could even walk straight. We'd sit for hours discussing Milton and Shakespeare, until the candles had almost burnt out…"

His jaw tightened as her voice trailed away and with a sardonic smile he interposed, "If only my father understood me as yours did you."

"What makes you think he doesn't?" she countered, wiping the lingering tears away with the back of her hand.

"Because he never has," he replied simply, "it was always William who clung to my father's shadow. He was to take over the business, to inherit everything. I was always too busy getting into trouble. And now…well, I'm not him."

"What happened to him?" she probed gently.

"Riding accident," he stated bluntly, before striding across the room to collapse into the chair she had recently vacated.

"Whatever your father said, was said in anger. I'm certain he didn't mean it," she began, moving to stand before him, "He loves you."

"How can you be so sure?" he queried, raising his eyes to avidly search hers.

"Because he's your father," she replied simply with a smile, "and you're all he has left."

For several moments, he merely stared at her; the sincerity with which she had uttered the words struck his heart, the reassurance like a comforting embrace to a weeping child. She held his gaze steadfastly yet as the azure began to shift and burn like the stirred embers of a dying fire, the blush rose to her cheeks and recalling her position, she stepped away, turning her gaze to her thin, ink stained fingers.

"I really should be going," she began hastily, "thank you for showing me the books but I have been away too long. People will be waiting for me."

"Wait!" he exclaimed, rising swiftly from his seat as she made towards the door, "please. Don't go."

"I have responsibilities Mr Sully, things I can't just ignore," she rejoined stoically, braving herself to once again face the inclement conditions outside, for the weather had turned during her short stay and sheets of rain were now splashing heavily upon the latticed windows.

"What if I said I could teach you," he suggested suddenly, "everything you need to know to go to medical school, to become a real doctor."

Her hand froze on the brass door knob, his words crashing over her consciousness and stilling the very beats of her heart. Turning slowly back towards him, she breathed, "You would teach me…to become a doctor?"

"Sure," he replied with a broad grin, shoving his hands into pockets and strolling over to her, "I'll teach you if you stay."

"But how can I stay," she murmured, the implications of his words blanching her features, "Mr Sully I couldn't possibly…"

"It's just Sully," he corrected teasingly, "and I thought we were friends."

"Well I …"

"Alright then," he finished with a satisfied gleam in his eyes as she fumbled for words, "you're staying."

"But…" she began again.

"You're staying," he reiterated with a smile.

"Thank you Mister, I mean Sully," she finally rejoined, "thank you so much."

"You're welcome Anne," he replied with a mock bow before reaching out for her hand to lead her back to her seat.

"Wait," she suddenly interjected, her hand tightening around his wrist and drawing his curious gaze to hers. Instantly she released her grip, the colour suffusing her cheeks anew.

"My name," she continued in a voice so low he had to incline his head to hear her, "it's not Anne. It's Michaela."

* * *

Raised voices issuing out of the bedroom on the first floor arrested his steps and raising his eyes up the polished, spiral staircase, he was surprised to discern Michaela's raised tones amidst the subdued and consequently somewhat muffled phrases of the housekeeper. Yet having already sampled the somewhat acrid liquor that was Michaela's stubborn temper, he bit back a laugh and hurried up the stairs, eager to discover what raucous scene he would discover beyond the innocent, pine doors. Knocking briskly, he called out, "Michaela? Mrs James? Is everything…?"

The words remained unspoken on his lips as at the sound of his voice, the door was instantly flung open and a dishevelled Michaela appeared on the threshold followed by the highly flustered housekeeper, her small, black cap now resting askew upon her greying head.

Had he been a genteel, lady friend, he would undoubtedly have registered the eyes darkened with ire, the slender rivulets of moisture that seared the flushed cheeks and the clenched fists that held the cotton cloth around the slender frame. Yet his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the pale, smooth skin exposed along neck and shoulder before drifting down to follow the heavy rise and fall of the her chest. For a moment, he was utterly lost in a world surrounded by the sound of her voice, her scent, the flawless satin of her skin taunting him to reach out and experience its softness.

Perhaps Mrs James noticed the change in his demeanour for she began in a stern voice, "Master Sully, Miss Michaela here…"

"I may be poor," interjected Michaela furiously, pulling the cotton sheet tighter around herself and glaring at him in pure defiance, "but I have some dignity. I will not be forced to undress and bathe in front of an audience."

Glancing back at Mrs James who merely held out her hands in despair, Sully forced back the smile that pulled threateningly at the corners of his mouth and met the blazing pair of eyes that bore staunchly back into his own.

"Well, I think that perhaps just this once, Miss Michaela can attend to things herself. I'm sure she'll call you if she needs anything and besides, this dress of hers needs pressing."

As he spoke, he pulled a small, white box from behind his back and held it out rather as one might a piece of candy to placate a fractious child. The sight of the pale pink ribbon holding down the lid in a perfect bow drew a heavy blush to her cheeks and in a soft murmur she queried, "You bought me a dress?"

"Yep," replied Sully with a broad smile, "I picked it out especially and I'm sure Mrs James will make any necessary alterations."

"After all," he added, leaning towards her in a confidential manner, "though you carry it very well, you can't wear that sheet to dinner tonight."

Glancing down at her hardly decent attire, she was suddenly torn between utter humiliation and sheer amusement. Yet the sight of Sully's teasing grin forced her towards the latter and raising mirthful eyes to his dancing ones, she responded in mock politeness, "Thank you, Sir," before laughing slightly and stepping back to allow Mrs James to close the door upon his now most animated expression.

* * *

A long growl issued from her stomach and with a sigh, she pressed her hand discreetly upon it to suppress the sound. She had eaten next to nothing all day and now with the clock striking six, her insides were simply aching with hunger. Yet despite the three of them having been seated at the elaborately set table for the past half an hour, there appeared to be no sign of any sort of dinner. The elder Mr Sully was deep in discussion with his son regarding some matter of business and though the latter showed little interest and spoke but rarely, the former seemed determined to examine every angle of the situation before settling to his repast. Shifting slightly in her seat, she tried to ignore the incessant prickle of the starched material upon her now thoroughly scrubbed skin. Sully hadn't had the sense to purchase a corset or petticoat along with the exquisite piece and thus she had been forced to slip the dress on with no undergarments to protect her from its coarse texture, a situation deemed highly improper by the formidable Mrs James.

Unbeknowst to her, her restless movements had not gone entirely unnoticed. Glancing in her direction, he forced back a laugh at her determined efforts to act the part of a lady; her now extremely stiff posture barely differentiated her form from the sturdy, wooden back of the chair. As she sighed again and bent her head to examine the extensive dinner service, a curtain of curls fell forward to shield her eyes from his sight. A satisfied smile spread across his face; the deep evergreen of her dress perfectly accentuated the lustrous copper of her heavy tresses and wholly unaware of the discomfort his guest was silently enduring, he leaned back to survey the beauty displayed before him in such abundance. Surrounded by the elite of Boston society, he was no stranger to the perfectly formed physique, ethereal lineaments and the seemingly effortless poise of particularly wealthy young ladies. Yet it was the purity of heart in the deprived young girl before him that struck him so. Though no doubt baffled by the endless courtesies and mannerisms expected when one moved in privileged circles, she had accepted them all, blending the natural warmth of her character with every gesture of politeness. His father had been enchanted, barely registering his rather vague explanation of her presence in his eagerness to escort her in to dinner.

The sudden clatter of dishes heralded the arrival of the long awaited meal and with eyes now wide with curious expectation, she straightened in her seat. Yet her delight was short lived as in addition to a steaming bowl of soup, an extra set of cutlery was hastily established next to her seemingly perfectly adequate one. His keen eyes caught the momentary panic blanching her features and coughing briefly to catch her attention, he slowly and deliberately settled his napkin in his lap before reaching for the largest spoon. A relieved smile cast a ribbon of colour across her cheeks and effortlessly mimicking his movements she chanced a glance at the head of the table. The old master had perceived none of the silent conversation that had passed swiftly between the two companions, his moustache already laden with beads of moisture from the steaming dish.

* * *

"It's alright," he uttered close to her ear, looping his arm easily through hers, "lean on me for a bit."

"Why…didn't you warn me?" she murmured, glad for the support as she struggled to find her footing.

"Well, I couldn't deny you a glass of wine with your dinner," he teased, steadying her slender form and guiding her gently up the stairs, "even if it was your first. It would have given the game away."

"Well it tasted…wretched," she continued slowly, her words stumbling out as she fought the dizziness that threatened to claim her thoughts, "I only kept going to be polite."

Unable to suppress a laugh at the vacant, sleepy expression on her face, he added cheekily, "Miss Michaela, a picture of propriety."

The alcohol however, even in its measured quantity, had had quite an effect on its naïve recipient and unable to muster the energy to frame a bitter retort, she merely made a mental note to punish him cruelly for his actions in the morning. Perhaps however, he took pity on her rather sorry state for he refrained from commenting further and only when she was safely deposited outside her room, did he add sincerely, "Good night, and thank you, again, for staying."

She barely formulated a coherent response before the door closed behind her and she was gone, leaving him alone in the dim lit hall.

* * *

Several hours later, unable to sleep for concern that perhaps his simple act had had a more serious effect on his new friend than anticipated, he crept noiselessly back towards her room. Knocking low, he murmured her name yet when no response came, he carefully eased open the door. To his surprise the single candle was still burning by the bedside, its amber glow casting flickering shadows upon the dinner dress spread carefully out across the small armchair. Glancing down, his breath caught in his chest. With nothing else to wear, she had donned her street clothes once more, the simple, faded garments looking even more desperate in the shadow of the rich, silken material resting mere feet away. Smiling contentedly at her peaceful repose, he brushed a stray tendril of hair away from brow before bending slightly to snuff out the candle and retreating out the way he had come.

She never stirred that night and he had not sought fit to move her. Thus when Mrs James entered early the next morning to light the fire, she had found her positioned in precisely the same manner - curled up in a small ball at the foot of the bed, her slight form covered with her meagre apron. The satin bedclothes remained unspoilt beneath her; she hadn't wanted to crumple them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

The days slipped by and slowly Michaela began to adjust to life in her new home. Never having been surrounded by such freedom and luxury, she delighted in the simplest things; hot water, clean towels and warm blankets, often to the amusement of those around her. If she felt any regret at the life she had left behind, she hid it well though perhaps the long hours spent alone during the daytime may have accounted for the slight pallor in her cheeks as she descended for dinner every evening.

In a brief conversation with his father on the morning following the memorable first supper, Sully had communicated the news of the recent loss of her own father and explained that as a young lady with great potential, she had sadly fallen upon rather hard times. To his amazement, his father had wholly supported his proposal to aid Michaela financially through her studies and later at medical school and though the latter had initially been highly indignant at Sully's notion that she was what was essentially termed "a good investment", her tender heart had melted at the overt generosity of the two gentlemen and she had determined to secure a place in their affections as a useful and dependable member of the family.

This bright, summer morning found Michaela curled up in the window seat of her bedroom, poring over a book of Latin verbs which Sully had left for her. A less determined student might quickly have tired of the repetitive nature of the exercises, yet Michaela revelled in the vast expanse of knowledge that been so easily placed within her grasp, the numerous volumes waiting to be picked up and perused so unlike the scanty books she had dug out from piles of discarded rubbish and treasured as additions to her meagre collection. So engrossed was she in the detailed text that she barely registered the brisk footsteps and urgent whispers outside her door and it was only when the familiar though highly distressed voice of Mrs James filtered through towards the window, did she rouse from her thoughts and glance up, her brow instantly furrowing in concern. Hastening to the door, she pulled it open to reveal a landing full of people; servants and butlers, the housekeeper and even the young kitchen boy had congregated outside the master bedroom, all deep in discussion and wearing identical expressions of the deepest gravity. Winding her way carefully through the net of shaking heads and gesticulating arms, she approached Mrs James and on enquiring what had occurred, was stunned to hear that the older Mr Sully had been taken quite ill during the night and was running a temperature. The doctor had been sent for, elaborated the butler who had been standing close enough to casually comment on the situation, but Michaela heard no more and without a second glance, she pushed open the door to the chamber. A very blanket of heat engulfed her where she stood and casting her eyes about the darkened room, she instantly fixated upon the fire, heavily stoked and burning brightly within the hearth. Hurrying over, she poked desperately at it but it had been well maintained during the night and her efforts proved wholly fruitless. The only solution was to douse it out and this she quickly did, the deep jug that stood on the wash table and a small vase that housed some dying blossoms on the mantelpiece her willing aides. A low moan from the bed drew her attention and striding towards the gentleman's side, she pushed back the covers to reveal a thin and shivering frame. The fever had robbed his kindly features of their ruddy hue and with great alarm, she noticed the beads of moisture upon his forehead, the icy wrist and the thready pulse against her fingertips. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and soaking it in the contents of his water glass, placed it tenderly upon his brow, all the while murmuring softly by his ear tender words of reassurance.

Her actions however, had not been executed with general approval. The fire had been extinguished against a veritable downpour of objections and her sodden handkerchief deplored amidst overt suspicion and much subdued muttering. Yet her uncharacteristic silence and the unwavering confidence in her actions soon dissipated the crowds and when only the sincere Mrs James and the butler remained, she began in earnest. The drapes were drawn back, the windows opened wide into the welcoming sunshine and ewers of icy water herded into the chamber with such alacrity that when the venerable physician deemed fit to finally attend his patient, the temperature of the latter was found to have markedly declined, though the same could not be said of the former. Unable to wholly deny the remarkable skill that the weary young woman before him had displayed, he merely shut up his bag and with great pomp stated that the situation had most likely not been as serious as previously anticipated and that he was not to be troubled again with such trivial ailments. The members of the household however were full of nothing but praise and heartfelt thanks for the girl who had toiled so tirelessly for a man she hardly knew and thus to his surprise, it was a tearful Mrs James that hurried down the stairs to greet the younger Mr Sully when he returned home that afternoon, with the incredible news that Miss Michaela had saved the master's life.

* * *

A single candle burnt by the bedside, its flickering rays casting shadows upon the small figure huddled in the armchair by the bed, book in hand and entirely lost to the world. A stray strand of hair was wrapped around her finger and by turn she wound and unwound it as she conquered the masterful waves of the ocean, the salty sea breeze filling her nose and catching her breath as she stood high amidst the rigging, savouring the freedom. Chancing to glance up, she caught his eyes fixed on her and as the colour filled her cheeks, she hastily put aside the novel and asked in a low voice, "How are you feeling, Sir?"

"I wish that I could have had a daughter," he stated with a smile after a moment of contemplating her tired features, "then perhaps she might have been a little like you. You have done more for me than I would have expected from any relation, Michaela, let alone someone I have barely known for two weeks."

"I only want to repay the kindness you have shown me," she murmured, averting her eyes in humility to the fresh bedclothes.

"I know," replied the elderly gentleman, "but I fear I may not be long for this world. My body is tired and I can feel myself beginning to slip away."

"You must be strong when I am gone," he continued, stilling her exclamation to the contrary, "for yourself and my son. I have never seen him quite so happy as when he is with you. I don't believe I have even had a cross word from him these past two weeks since you arrived."

Michaela allowed herself a small smile as he chuckled loudly before beginning quietly, "Sir, I feel I must explain about myself. I'm not…who you think I am."

"Perhaps not," replied the astute old man, "you can not choose your birth or your parentage, but that doesn't make you any less worthy of my support or affection. Minds such as yours were made to flourish and prosper and it is only right and proper that they do so, even if they need a little assistance along the way."

Her wide eyes met his and as he smiled benignly at her, a look of mutual understanding passed between them. "Now send in my son, if you can find him," he interposed after a moment's silence, chuckling again and instantly abbreviating the now sombre mood, "I have something I wish to discuss with him."

* * *

The old master was true enough to his word and on a cold, grey, November morning, she had stood arm in arm with Sully before the marble headstone, the wind biting at her bare fingers and tears trickling miserably down her chilled cheeks. The illness had greatly weakened him and though she had struggled by every possible means to make him fight on, he had eventually given up the will and in a few short months he was gone. Though she felt the loss acutely, her concern was wholly directed towards Sully. He appeared to the bear the sudden bereavement with tolerable ease yet from the hour that they left the church, his eyes had been hooded over with a darkness she had never seen before and in his heart, she sensed the grief was festering, silently corroding away its youthful sentiment. He would sit alone for hours in the library, his hands becoming like ice as the fire died down to blackened embers yet he made no effort to revive it. Food lay untouched on trays in the corner of the room and only when he had refused to eat anything for nigh on a day, did Mrs James finally decide to inform Michaela, her withered hands wringing together in despair and alarm for the young master.

Taking a bowl of soup from the kitchen, Michaela hurried towards the library and on finding him lost in thought by the window, instantly approached and in a stern voice, demanded that he eat something. At his sad, lost expression, her tone softened and placing the bowl aside, she knelt down beside him and took his hand.

"Take a part of yourself," she advised him, "dedicate it to him, mourn him and then lay him to rest. You can't carry on this way Sully, you can't live in the past. You have to move on."

And much to everyone's surprise and relief, he did just that. To be sure, he was cold and detached for an additional two days yet it was a clear pair of blue eyes that met hers across the dinner table on the evening of the third, the first hint of a smile pulling at his lips. A contented smile curved her own and as she watched him hungrily devour his steaming repast, a tongue of pleasure rose up from her stomach to wrap its arms about her heart. Later that evening, as they sat side by side in the library, he finally posed the question that had been troubling him for so long.

"What did you do, when your father died?"

"I took on my middle name for a time," she replied simply before adding with a smile, "until the day I felt I could finally let him go."

* * *

As the weeks went by, the seemingly impenetrable mantle of melancholy that had fallen upon the house slowly began to lift. Sully took charge of his father's business and was often gone all day though the daily duties held little interest or pleasure for him; rather he spent the lengthy, tedious days longing for the few hours after dinner that he could spend with Michaela. Unbeknownst to him, she too cherished the precious moments spent in his company. Though she carried on her studies alone during the day, old Mr Sully's will having provided ample funding for that, she revelled in the hours spent amicably by the fire. As habit dictated, he would emerge into the library after dinner, already pulling at the stiff cravat and smart jacket before discarding them casually on the waiting arm of a chair. And with the garments came the stiffened posture, the neutral turn of countenance and highly correct vocabulary; before her very eyes he would transform from a high class gentleman to a common street urchin, his long hair flopping into his eyes as he slumped down beside her, the slang his father had abhorred creeping steadily into his speech until on numerous occasions she had been reduced to fits of giggles at the thought that his language was far more bourgeois and unrefined than her own.

The candles would grow dim, the wicks wilting with fatigue and yet they would sit, swapping ideas and memorable lines of poetry, formulating impossible theories and speculating wildly on things they knew little about, if anything at all. Finally they would grow silent and she would settle down on the hearth, her skirts tucked under her bare feet and he would move to sit by her, often cushioning her head upon his shoulder and on occasion laying with his head upon her lap, delighting in the simple comfort of her hand tenderly brushing the hair away from his brow.

In this pleasant manner, Time slipped by undetected and spring arrived in Boston, bringing with it a very special letter for Michaela; to her utter amazement and sheer delight, she had been accepted to read medicine at the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania. Her excitement knew no bounds and eager that everyone should partake of her joy, a celebratory dinner was prepared that very evening in her honour. Laughter and merriment filled the house but Sully, for his part, was torn. He longed to rejoice along side her, to share in the knowledge that what had once been but a distant dream for her was now rapidly becoming reality. Yet he had grown accustomed to her presence and though he chided himself for his selfish revelries and sought desperately to repress the inconsolable sadness he felt at the thought of her leaving, he could not entirely quell the emotion that stirred his heart. Many a night he passed in sleepless repose, his mind teaming with thoughts that kneaded him with the force of endless possibilities and though she did not guess the cause, Michaela was quick to remark on the darkened rings that had grown to encircle his bright eyes when he struggled down to breakfast.

Preparations for her imminent departure propelled the two companions, whether by their will or not, into the sweltering summer and finally, on a peaceful, clear September morning, Sully looped his arm through hers and guided her slowly along the platform towards the train. Though there was but a year's difference in their ages, she suddenly appeared as young and lost as when she had first come to stay and momentarily forgetting his own agonies in the face of her blanched features and trembling hand, he pulled her gently to a halt.

"You'll be fine," he assured her, taking her hand and enclosing it in both of his.

"I know," she replied automatically yet the gentle pressure on her fingers finally urged her face up towards him and with wide eyes, she murmured soulfully, "What if I don't fit in, what if I'm not good enough?"

"Michaela," he interjected with a laugh, "you're going to be fine. You've already read every journal and every book we managed to find, even that one we bought off that suspicious merchant for an extortionate sum by the river, remember?"

A small smile curled her lips at the memory and before she could plunge back into her previous, dejected thoughts, he lifted her chin and added, "Make me proud, Dr Quinn."

"Thank you, Sully," she whispered, her voice catching against the tears rising fast in her eyes, "thank you for everything."

Rising up, she placed her arms fervently around his neck, burying her face in the familiar scent of his jacket one last time. Ignoring the highly disapproving glances being cast in their direction, he eagerly returned the embrace, holding her close against him and tenderly stroking her hair, desperately seeking to prolong the moment when he would have to release his hold and surrender her cherished form to the open arms of Fate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Steam billowed from the engine as it pulled into the siding, smothering the platform with clouds of acrid fumes. The chatter of moving crowds grew ever louder and as the hazy outline of the station slid in and out of view, the jostling herds of passengers disembarking buffeted the stationary individuals with flagrant disregard. A young woman however, stood detached from those fighting against the crush of bodies, waiting silently by the carriage which she had so recently vacated. Her erect posture and exquisitely tailored gown exuded the poise and grace of an elegant lady of high birth yet the set of her jaw and cool expression of her bright eyes spoke of a fiery independence accentuated by great intelligence; she sought but one face and her keen glance repeatedly swept through the station in growing impatience.

Fighting his way through the bustling throng, he finally emerged beside the train and gazing frantically around, saw no sign of her. Mortified that he might have missed her in the bewildering mass now moving towards the entrance, he glanced back in dismay yet at that moment, a clear voice called his name. For an instant, he could hardly believe his eyes; there she stood beside the door that hung half open, a small smile curling her lips. Her hair that had once hung in loose waves down her back was elegantly styled and pinned up to reveal the slender column of her throat. The simple, cotton dress had been replaced by a coat of smoothest velvet, the deep crimson highlighting the black, leather bag clutched firmly in her gloved hand.

"Michaela?" he breathed, suddenly uncertain that the striking young woman before him could ever have been the same person. Yet as she drew close enough to meet his wavering gaze, he saw the laughter dancing in her eyes. Hastily discarding the bag beside her cases, she picked up her skirt and all propriety forgotten, hurtled towards him, a slim shot of colour that flung itself into his arms and cried joyfully against his ears. Wrapping his arms instinctively around her warmth, he nestled into the crook of her neck, breathing deep the floral fragrance of her skin before murmuring against her shoulder, "I missed you."

It was as though she had never left.

* * *

Though Michaela dubbed it a ridiculous extravagance and said she'd much prefer a small dinner at home, Sully was determined to celebrate her final return to Boston in style. A high profile social was organised, invitations were sent out and the house dusted and polished till it shone from every angle. Yet by the morning of the event, Mrs James was in a state of great panic, frenetically re-dusting and re-polishing every object in sight. The amused glances of the two party planners following her around the house did little to improve her mood and with an uncharacteristic boldness and little ceremony, she sent them both out of the house with strict orders to purchase a new dress for Michaela. Sully was inclined to back out of the little adventure however a brief reminder from Michaela that he still owed her a petticoat from the last time he had bought her a dress changed his mind and laughing good naturedly, he contentedly accepted the arm she proffered to him. Well remembering his previous, somewhat overwhelming experience in a dress makers shop however, it was with a great deal of trepidation that Sully crossed the threshold into a world that billowed with silks and lace. Yet he needn't have been concerned; Michaela had a mind of her own when it came to patterns and designs and blithely ignoring comments regarding the latest fashion or most expensive fabric, she rapidly selected the garment she wanted and ordered it to be wrapped up. At this point, Sully had casually strolled over in at attempt to sneak a glance at the colour she had chosen but she had been too quick for him and laughing at his rather pathetic attempt at subtlety, she merely picked up the dress box and thanking the assistant, shepherded him sternly from the shop.

* * *

Whilst her endless studies and great love of all literature had rendered Michaela the intellectual equivalent and one might even argue on occasion superior, of the elegant ladies and gentleman scattered in small groups throughout the hallway and living room, there was one subject upon which she was woefully ignorant. In her naïve, ever humble manner, she yet perceived herself as the rough and ready girl upon whom Fortune had chosen to smile so kindly. Yet the beautiful and engaging young woman who turned the heads of many as she made her way down the stairs, could hardly be identified as the same dusty character in the threadbare garments. Her dress was the colour of the midnight sky, the deep hue burnishing her skin with the pearly sheen of finest alabaster. Despite his playful demands that she wear her hair straight down like she used to, she had laboured on with the curling iron and carefully pinned up the sides so that a waterfall of lustrous curls now cascaded down her back. Simple ornaments, a silver chain and small earrings, completed her attire and as she smiled at him, the colour rose to lace her features with a radiance that bathed all around her in the glow of her natural delight.

Sully watched contentedly as she wove her way effortlessly through the crowds, pausing now and again to address a word to a friend or acquaintance, confident that she would eventually find her way over to him. Yet a tall and stately gentleman accosted her mere feet from where he stood and though he half expected her to smile and politely excuse herself, as she had done every other offer of conversation or a dance, she paused and appeared to show a genuine interest in the young man's words.

A malignant frown contorted his features and the resultant gleam in the sharp, grey eyes at having captured the lady's attention, made the thorny prickle of jealousy all the more difficult to ignore.

"Save a dance for me?" she said in a low voice, leaning back towards him with a smile as the gentleman guided her across the hallway.

"Sure," he replied nonchalantly, eyes narrowing with dislike as he watched the gloved hand come to rest on the small of her back. Though his heart protested angrily at the display before him, his mind contested that he had no right to feel alarmed, that he had lain no claim on her affections and furthermore, he had not had the slightest indication that his feelings might be reciprocated, should he deign to reveal them at all. Ire was a much more palatable medicine than the bitter dregs of regret however and with a final glare in the direction the couple had taken, he turned and abruptly stalked off in quite the opposite way.

* * *

Making her way through the now deserted hallway, Michaela chided herself thoroughly for her behaviour; her innocent interest in the young physician had led to his unending presence all evening and though she had tried to extricate herself from his circle of comrades, her every effort had proved unsuccessful. She had half hoped that Sully might come to her assistance, perhaps provide a suitable excuse for a hasty departure, yet he had always seemed engaged, laughing and drinking champagne with a pair of handsome blonde siblings. Though she had never particularly considered the matter, she supposed she had been a fool not to think that someday he would want to marry. Naturally he would select a woman of wealth and calibre such as himself yet in spite of her rational musings, her temper rose inexplicably as she recalled the bright blush that had filled the elder sister's cheeks as Sully had handed her a drink and quickening her steps as though to rid her mind of the image, she hurried on towards the entrance where Sully was seeing off the last of the guests. To her dismay however, she was just in time to see the afore mentioned sisters bid their farewells to the attentive host who responded in kind with a low bow. Had she but seen the mocking expression in his eyes as he executed the nicety, she might have laughed away her momentary anger as silliness, yet she had not that fortune and the sight merely sought to fuel her rage. As the front door finally closed and the butler was dismissed with a cheerful goodnight, Sully made towards the stairs however a cold voice issuing from his left instantly arrested his steps.

"Finished saying goodnight to all your guests?" she queried, an icy whip behind her words.

"Yep," replied Sully with a smile, "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

"Well you certainly seemed to," she replied with a sardonic smile, ignoring his question and glaring at him with eyes that flashed fire in the darkness.

A smile of comprehension spread slowly across Sully's features and folding his arms before him, he stated simply, "I think you're jealous."

"Me? Jealous?" she shot back venomously, "that's ridiculous. You are quite at liberty to entertain whomever you choose without my having anything to do with it."

"Admit it," he teased, "you're jealous."

"I am not jealous!" she cried, puerile tears rising in her eyes as she turned on her heel and disappeared into the library, slamming the door behind her. A resounding crash followed by the tinkle of broken glass filled the air and wholly startled, she spun around. In her agitated state, it had completely escaped her memory that the old, oaken library door had recently been replaced in strict accordance with the latest fashion, by a thinner one of white pine with small panes of glass set along its length. The vehement force behind her attempt to exclude Sully from her sanctuary had knocked a lone, unwitting pane out of its frame and it now sparkled as a shower of irregular needles upon the floor.

Suddenly overwhelmed with shame at her petulant behaviour and guilt ridden that she had recklessly destroyed a very expensive piece, she resolutely bit back the beads of moisture that threatened to run unchecked down her cheeks. As the creak of the new wood betrayed the opening of the door behind her, she hastily turned away, lest he observe the raw emotions reflected in her now downcast eyes.

"I'm sorry," he offered softly, "I didn't mean to upset you. I was only teasing."

"Truth is," he continued when she seemingly remained unmoved by his words, "I was jealous too."

"What?" broke in Michaela, turning back towards him, her own agonies fading in the wake of sheer incredulity.

"Yep," replied Sully with a sheepish smile, "you and that doctor, dancing and talking together. It almost made me crazy to see you like that."

"I'd much rather have danced with you," murmured Michaela, stepping closer to him, "but you never asked."

"I know," he whispered, raising a hand to gently caress the side of her face, "and I'm sorry."

"I should be the one apologising," she interposed contritely, "the door…"

"Don't worry about Michaela," he replied with a low chuckle, "you were just reminding me how much I love you."

He barely registered the bliss that contorted her lineaments at his words before his lips descended upon hers and he revelled in the sweet softness. He had waited for this moment for so long and he tried desperately to prolong it, holding on to her as tightly as he could yet he sensed the change within her and with a gentle push on his chest, she broke the tender embrace.

"Sully," she breathed, stepping away from him, "I've waited so long to hear you say that."

"What's the matter?" he queried, instantly registering the sadness that tinged her tone.

"There's something I have to tell you," she began in a low voice, moving to stand by the window. When the deathly silence that had fallen in the room remained unbroken, she continued slowly, "I applied for a position as a town physician and I received a telegram today to say that I've been hired. I'm expected at the end of the week."

"But's that great," interjected Sully, his features relaxing into a smile as he hurried forward to embrace her anew, "I thought…"

Yet as she continued to resist his attempts, his voice trailed off and with great concern he asked, "Michaela, what aren't you saying?"

"The position Sully," she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself for his reaction, "it's in Colorado Springs."

The words echoed around the small room, brutally shattering the hope that had risen in his chest mere moments ago. Shock rendered him disbelieving and in bewilderment he exclaimed, "But you can't leave, you've only just come back to Boston. This is your home and I…"

"Sully," she interposed gently, reaching forward to take his hand and stemming the flow of words, "that night, when you father was suddenly taken ill and I sat with him until you arrived, he said something to me."

"My father?" queried Sully, the consternation clearly reflected in his features.

"Yes your father," she repeated softly, "He knew exactly who I was and where I had come from, yet he maintained that that didn't make me any less worthy of his affection.

"But I don't feel worthy," she continued with a sigh. "You've done so much for me Sully, given me so much that I can't even begin to thank you for it. But I can't stay here, I don't belong here. To live forever amidst these people, all this finery and know that I hadn't earned any of it….I couldn't do it. It's not who I am."

"But I love you," he repeated in earnest, his mind unable to comprehend what she was saying though his heart beat faster with her every word that passed her lips, as though in anticipation of imminent loss it had determined to live as much as possible in the remaining moments.

"And I love you, but I'm still a street girl," she replied sadly, a lone tear escaping the confines of her lashes and trickling down her cheek, "a poor, forgotten soul who longed to help the people around her. You gave me the tools to make a difference Sully, but I can't do it here, I'd never be accepted. I have to take this chance, to make a life for myself, so that perhaps one day, I will be truly worthy of your love."

"Please, try to understand," she whispered, rising up to place a tender kiss on his cheek before stepping back and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Yet he was as one frozen; his heart had long since stilled its beats and the very breathe seemed stolen from his lungs. Held immobile in a fierce grasp which robbed the words from his lips even as he made to call out to her, he blankly watched the most treasured portion of his heart walk away from him. And in a mere moment, she had turned and vanished from his sight, just as she had done all those years ago in a sweltering, waste strewn alleyway by the river.


End file.
